Tickle Me Pink

Ray's glued to her phone when Lucy's got that grin. She jabs a finger into Ray's ribs, then another, and the whole phone lands on the floor in a clatter. Ray yelps, fingers already digging under Lucy's shirt, and the spark catches. They topple off the couch, kicking, grabbing, both of them laughing loud enough to shake the lamps. Lucy pins Ray's wrists for three seconds flat before Ray bucks free and scrambles between her legs, digging thumbs into the soft skin above her hips. They roll again, Lucy's knee jammed up against Ray's crotch while Ray's teeth catch her earlobe, warm breath and giggles mixing fast. The wrestling keeps them tangled—legs hooked around shoulders, one girl on all fours with the other riding her back. Fingertips find bare ribs, thighs, the ticklish spot just below the navel. Shirts come off between snatches of contact. Lucy's nipples brush Ray's mouth mid-laugh; Ray answers with wet kisses down Lucy's stomach that dissolve into open panting against skin. They quit pretending it's just play once they're naked. Ray shoves two fingers straight into Lucy's cunt, thumb still teasing the crease at the top of her thigh while Lucy's own fingers slide between Ray's soaked lips, knuckles bumping her clit with each pump. They buck against each other's hands, tongues tangled, biting whenever the tickle starts again. Moans bounce off the walls every time someone curls digits just right—Ray twitching hard when Lucy hits the spot, hips jerking; Lucy melting when Ray scissors her fingers wider. Neither slows. The whole fight carries them straight through orgasm, limbs still locked, sweat sliding down inner thighs, grinning at each other between stuttered breaths like they already know round two's about to start.